Ripe for Corruption
by kaitlin.perkins42
Summary: We all felt the tension when the Abbe was visiting the Marquis, drinking the wedding wine. What if the Marquis had taken the Abbe's comment a little...too far?


Title: Young Prospect  
Rating: R (No consentual sex)  
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters and or places are not mine. No profit is being made.

* * *

"Yes, but I'm not a young prospect, ripe for corruption." Columier swilled his wine, watching the torrent of it in his glass, waiting for the Marquis' answer.

"You never know…" The Marquis rose from his chaise and put a hand on Columier's shoulder. A painful sickness wrenched at the young man's gut. Something was going wrong, he knew, and he wanted none of it. He stood quickly, tipping his glass accidentally, and spilling red liquid all over the stone floor.

"Where are you going, my pet?" The Marquis grabbed his wrist.

"Please…Marquis, let me go." This was Columier's first error. His innocent pleading; the fact that he had no clue what was in store for him heated the Marquis and made his groin stir. Columier's eyes were watering.

Marquis did let him go, then raced to the door, slammed it, and stood in front of it. Columier ran to him, trying to push him out of the way. "Let me out!" The Marquis fumbled through his friend's robe for the key and grasped it. He took no time to taunt Columier, but turned quickly and locked the door, then dropped the metal ring of keys out his little window.

Columier was backing towards a corner. "What are you going to do?" His voice, though full of fear, was also full of a poison loathing.

"I cannot put it into words, my dear Abbe." Columier's eyes grew wide, his palms were flat against the wall.

"Don't…" he shook his head, and was crying. Again, a mistake that caused the Marquis' cock to rise in his britches.

The Marquis walked to him, cornered him in the stone. He grabbed the young man's shoulders and turned him. He wrapped skilled arms around the boy, unbuttoning his robe. He could hear Columier's failed attempts to breathe normally. He felt his catch struggle against him, so stuck his knee between his legs. The Abbe sucked in a harsh breath and went limp.

He started to undo the boy's pants, as well, when he struck gold. Columier started to struggle more wildly, flailing.

"No! Don't! Don't do it, please!"

He could no see his prize, so with the hand that was not wrapped around his waist, he rubbed the young man's face, smudged salty tears off, and then put his hand his mouth. He then continued to push the Abbe's pants off.

"Stop it!" He tried to turn around, but the Marquis caught his waist.

"I don't think so…" He slid his hand up the white shirt, over hot flesh. Columier bent over and threw up. "Tell me how old you are, Abbe." He said when he threw the boy to the floor. Columier landed on his hands and knees, avoiding the puddle of his sick. He turned to look at the marquis, who was undoing his own pants. "I'm 19…" he whispered, slumping against the wall.

"Almost a third of my age," the Marquis sighed, freeing himself of the cumbersome clothing.

Columier gasped. It wasn't that he had never seen another man naked, in his job, you could not escape it. But…the Marquis was…they were both naked and the Abbe feared the worst.

The Marquis, seething with arousal, grasped the Abbe's waist and pulled the boy towards him. He didn't take his time, but satisfied his urge, and entered Columier quickly. The boy cried out, then bit on his lower lip to stop from making more noise.

The Marquis ran sharp nails over the Abbe's back, making it bleed.

"Please…stop," Columier grasped at his robe, pooled underneath him, and begged for the torture to end.

Madeleine hadn't seen Abbe all day, and so went looking the first place she could thing of: the Marquis room. She knocked on the metal door, before sliding the smaller, inset one open.

"Marquis?" She questioned the man at his desk, scribbling fiercely, so that she feared he may tear the parchment. He turned at her call and grinned at her, and she saw something evil shining in his eyes.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Have you seen Abbe? I've looked-"

A muffled sob interrupted her quarry. "Is that him?" She glared at the Marquis.

"Ah, so it is." He did not sound defeated, quite the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying what was happening.

She slid the little metal door shut with a loud bang, then fumbled with her keys to open the large door. "Where is he?" Her eyes searched the large chamber for any sign of Columier, but the most out of place thing she noticed was vomit. The Marquis pointed innocently to his bed.

She ran over to it, throwing open the hangings. Sure enough, there he was. Naked, curled up in a ball, a strip of black cloth in his mouth as a gag. One wrist was secured to the bed post with the same fabric. His back was covered in fresh, weeping wounds and looked at her, then cried.

Madeleine turned to the Marquis, "What have you done to him?" she admonished, before untying Abbe from the bed. After she loosed his hand, he grabbed her dress with it. She then untied his gag, and ran a shaking hand over his face.

"I only did to him what ought to be expected of me."

The Abbe buried his face in her dress after the Marquis spoke.

"You are nothing but a beast." She seethed at the old man, and ran a comfortingly maternal hand through Columier's hair. "Where are his clothes?" She demanded, searching the room again.

"You won't find them," the Marquis grinned-he had planned for this all along.

"Oh, you disgusting pig!" she yelled at him, infuriated, as she gather Abbe in her arms. He whimpered, but did not utter a single word.

"Abbe," she whispered to him," it is late. Past mid-night, no one shall see you. Go quickly to your room and I will follow."

He cried a little and shook his head.

"I will _not_ leave you alone while I got fetch clothes. PLEASE, do as I say."

He rose from the bed, trying to maintain as much dignity as was possible. She watching him run down the hall, he had avoided her gaze. She then walked into the doorway, glared at the grinning Marquis, and locked the man in.

He was standing at the door, pant loosely fitted onto his waist.

"Oh, Abbe…" she put a small hand on his still tear-stained face. "What ever did he do to you?"

He looked away, ashamed. "What did he _do, _Abbe?"

"What he did, Maddy, are actions whose words I shan't speak to you."

She looked around his room for a washing basin, saw it in the corner. She picked up a cloth, and wrung it out. "Sit," she commanded, pointing to the bed. She could see he had trouble walking and sitting, but he situated himself on the bed as comfortably as possible.

She walked over to him and sat cross-legged behind him. He winced when her dress brushed his back. "I'm sorry." She dabbed the wet cloth on dried blood. "How long were you in there?"

"I do not know…I went in the night I saw you leaving."

"That was twenty four hours ago, Abbe! What did he do to you?"

"Please…I do not wish to think on it." He was crying, she could tell, even without looking at him.

"Please tell me, Abbe." He arched his back away from her and hissed. "I'm sorry. Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

"Yes," he sighed, "but little of it will I allow you to see." Then he held out his wrist, "but _this…_you could fix." Around his wrist, in a red, raw circle was the mark from the cloth. "That was my pants." He whispered in a cracked voice.

She nodded and wiped it gently. "Where else?"

He looked at his lap. "My thighs. He burned them"

"You must be in agony." She knew the pain of scratchy fabric over a wound, especially a new one. He nodded.

"I will go to the laundry pantry and get a topical. You must stay here. You need some food, too."

He nodded again, looking like a young puppy.

"I shall be right back."


End file.
